


roll over and play dead

by Little_marie



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Ada deserves a friend, Betrayal, Drug Use, F/M, Family Drama, Peaky Fucking Blinders, Tommy probably doesn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:03:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_marie/pseuds/Little_marie
Summary: On Hiatus!!After being fired from her job as a political spy, Irena Katin befriends Ada Thorne and becomes an informer for the Peaky Blinders. The work comes easy for Irena, but when her old life starts to rear its ugly head, how can she stop her new life from crashing down around her?~*~“My manager. Silly old sod, he only wanted the facts when they were suspended in formaldehyde and stripped of all their goodness. I was after the meat, the story, the mystery. Every rock I overturned pointed to a new one. It was just a bit much for him to handle, I guess, the scope of what I was discovering. He couldn’t see the bigger picture.”“You sound like a right little snoop, poking around, overturning ‘rocks’,” jested Ada.“I was, really,” mused Irena. “Probably still am. Habits like that are hard to get rid of.”





	1. Egg Yolk Dress

It was a smoky day, not unlike every other day in this fucking town. Birmingham. Even the name itself tasted ashy when Irina had to say it. Which was at least once a week, on a Friday afternoon when the sun was halfway down the flag pole and she was sat in front of her telephone with a list of names in her notebook.

“State your business please,” crackled a woman’s voice from the receiver Irena held up to her ear.

“Progress report.”

“You know you can put that in a telegram, Miss.”

“Yes, but as I told you last week AND the week before, I _don’t have access to a wire_ ,” she said, not without attitude. Her body was slumped back into a chair, feet and legs dangling over one arm. Her bun had come loose during the day and pieces of wavy black hair stuck put around her face and neck, frizzy and unbrushed.

The woman on the other side of the telephone sighed harshly into her mouthpiece.

“State your posting,” droned the woman.

“I wasn’t posted, I live here-“

“State your posting, Miss,” the operator interrupted. They were never the most soft-spoken women, but then again, Irena didn’t tend to bring a soft side out in anybody.

“Birmingham,” she grumbled.

“Case number?”

“8! 2! 4! And I wish to speak to Dr. Meyer, if that’s alright with you?” She snapped.

“It’s not up to me, Miss. I’ll pop you through to whoever is on the other side of your file.”

“I’m just saving you the effort, I know who my manager is,” Irena said, unbuttoning her sleeves at the wrists. She had the receiver wedged between her shoulder and head.

Five dull minutes later, she heard familiar throat clearing over the line and scrambled to adjust the transmitter which had been sliding off her lap.

“Miss Katin, how’s your week been?” asked her manager, drawing out the ‘i’ in her last name. If Irena didn’t know better, she’d have thought he sounded excited to talk to her.

“You should really just give me your direct number, Meyer. That operator they have taking calls is a whiny bitch,” she replied, inspecting the nails of her free hand. There was dirt under her thumb nail. She needed a good scrub.

“That’s not very nice, Miss Katin. She, like all of us, is only doing her job. And didn’t I ask you to call me Klaus?”

“I will call you Klaus when you give me your direct number. And a raise,” she added, trying to pick the dirt out with her index finger.

“You are superbly rude, Miss Katin,” Meyer replied in his guttural, German manner.

“Hmm,” she pursed her lips petulantly. “Pity I’m so good at my job, or you could just sack me.” She stuck her thumb nail between her teeth and chewed on it for a moment. “Do you want to sack me, Mr Meyer?”

There was a crackly pause which Irena used to swap the receiver to her other ear.

“What intel did you observe this week, Miss Katin?” Asked Meyer, no longer playful.

Irena blew a contemplative raspberry with her lips as she flicked through her notes to Saturday the 24th of September.

“Column McPherson walked twice around Jayne Kinney’s laundry house before entering on Saturday. This was important because, when his same route was tracked, there was a bag found containing thirty pounds and the deed to the house in France you’ve been so interested in. Originally, I thought that the man had deposited it there for someone else, but then I thought: Why would he walk around the building twice?”

“Why indeed,” replied Meyer flatly.

“Because I am very smart, and for this I deserve at least a twenty percent tip, I concluded that the bag was meant for McPherson. He couldn’t find it, because he is a stupid bald man, and didn’t want Mrs Grey, who was passing at the time, to see him rifling through an alley way. He had to leave, lap the building and come back for another look,” finished Irena with a grin on her face.

“I want you to send the deed to me immediately, Miss Katin.”

“ _Oh, Miss Katin! Thank you so much for being such a smart and diligent detective!”_ Irena wailed into the transmitter in an overdone German accent. _“I will give you anything you want, including a thirty percent tip and my own personal number!”_

“It doesn’t matter whether it was delivered by or to McPherson, it only matters that we intercepted it,” replied Meyer.

“That, Mr Meyer, is why I am the detective and you are the report writer,” she replied, smugly polishing her nails on her bodice.

“For the last time, Katin, you are not a detective! You are simply our man, or in this case woman, on the ground. And I am your manager, not your report writer.”

“Could have fooled me, I don’t see any managing happening here,” said Irena cheekily.

“Anyway,” she continued hastily. She could sense Meyer building up to a lecture and needed to distract him. “I followed him to his home and let myself in on Monday when he went to work. Guess what I found?”

“Other than a stack of cash and jewellery that your employers will never get a lick of? Everyone knows that you pocket any ‘unnecessary’ items, Miss Katin. I’ve always wondered how you spend them, actually,” mused Meyer.

“I do not!” cried Irena.

“Not on your clothes, obviously. Or you house, if Chester’s word is anything to go by. You like people to think you’re a poor little girl barely rubbing two pennies together. I bet you’re richer than I am, you glutton.”

Irena gasped loudly. “You take that back, Mister Meyer! I survive off meagre cuts of every fat check you get given for reiterating _my_ information. Why else would I so desperately need that forty percent tip?” Irena pouted, twirling stray locks of her hair. It too, was filled with dirt and soot and god knows what else. She really was sick of being so filthy all the time.

“What did you find inside the house, Katin,” pressed Meyer.

“Baby clothes,” she cooed. “And a cot, and a tiny bath, and little baby forks and spoons and a _highchair,_ and even-”

“This is important to the case because…?” Demanded Meyer. He really was an impatient man.

“ _Well_ ,” Irena began, gossiping like a maid. “There was no sign of Mum or baby all week! They must have been sent ahead to France, poor dears. I don’t think they’ll last long there without a place to stay.

“You don’t think…”

“That he’s fleeing the country?” Finished Irena. “Yes, I do, and I found out why.”

“I’m listening,” Meyer said after a pause.

“He visited Monsieur Dupris on Sunday morning, then went straight back to the hiding spot to look for the deed again. This was after I’d taken it, of course,” Irena sniffed. “I went through Dupris mail and I found a letter from, duh duh duh dhun! Mrs E. L. Prescott!”

There was a longer pause, and then Meyer muttered “Am I missing something?”

Irena groaned and swung her legs off the arm of her chair. “She is just the woman that everyone’s been talking about for months. E. L. P? Sound familiar?” She demanded.

“Oh bugger. E. L. P.”

“Yes, _oh bugger._ _She_ is the one sending ransoms out for every stupid little man that dares speak her name. Even you, maybe,”

“Is that a threat!?” exclaimed Meyer.

“I’m merely being practical.”

“You test me, Katin.”

“Anyway,” continued Irena, straightening herself in her chair. “Because we’re dealing with such an important benefactor, or benefactress, I thought the best plan of action would be to-”

“Oh no,” interrupted Meyer.

“You can’t have any idea what I’m going to say!” said Irena.

“Katin, what have you done?”

Irena took a deep breath. “I’m simply playing the long game, Mr Meyer.”

“You’re not supposed to be playing ANY game! You’re supposed to get information! Sometimes intercept packages, that sort of thing! Not make decisions!” Meyers voice yelled from the receiver.

“Do you want to know what I did, or not?”

“Oh my god.”

“I put the deed back into the hidey hole and left a note in McPhersons letter box to look under the right bit of wood,” Irena said quickly.

“YOU DID WHAT?” screamed Meyer.

“Now, no one will know that we know the precise location of a wanted man _and-”_

“You STUPID woman!”

“-we know the name and location of someone in direct contact with E. L. P!”

There was silence over the line.

“This is vital information, Meyer! You report this, minus the fact that I was in possession of the deed, and our big boss is going to be raining praise on you like a bloody fountain! Now, before you thank me, can we _please_ have a chat about my cut from all this-”

“You’re fired,” said Meyer.

Irena lowered her transmitter. “What?”

“You had no right to do what you did, and you may have cost this operation _thousands_ by thinking you’re any smarter than men who have spent their whole lives taking down criminal gangs. Your pig-headedness has finally gotten the best of you, Miss Katin,” uttered Meyer with barely controlled fury. “You were in possession of probably the biggest piece of leverage we’ve had in this _entire_ investigation and you gave it straight back!”

“I told you, it’s a long game! Plus, the deed to a house is hardly leverage to these people, Meyer,” Irena said, rolling her eyes. “It didn’t even have a second story!”

“You will receive your final pay cheque next Thursday-”

“You can’t be serious-”

“-with absolutely NO tip! Good DAY, Miss Katin.”

~*~

Ada Thorne needed a new dress. There was a hotel opening in Sutton and she was desperate for a night out. She’d arranged for Pol to look after Karl, and for John to come pick her up at eleven after his meeting. Now all she needed was the right dress.

Feminine Feel was a new shop she hadn’t had a chance to visit yet, not with the long hours she spent at the library and looking after her son. It always had the prettiest windows filled with glittering gowns and shiny shoes. A bell chimed when she opened the door and a young woman of about her stature glanced over to look at her. Ada stared back, waiting for the redness of recognition and fear to wash over the woman’s face as it did with all Birmingham ladies when she entered a room. Instead, the woman smiled.

“Are you Ada Shelby?” the woman asked cheerfully. She had a bright smile and sparkling eyes. So sparkling in fact, that Ada almost didn’t notice how grubby she looked, especially standing next to all those beautiful dresses.

Ada shook her head. “Thorne, actually.”

The woman gasped prettily. “Oh, I’m so sorry. The last time I saw you must’ve been years ago; I was barely sixteen. My mother pointed you out while we were walking. I’m Irena, how do you do?”

She held out her hand to Ada and started to walk towards her. Ada hadn’t shaken hands with a woman before, she didn’t know what to do, but she met her in the middle and they shook. A clean, bright hand against a dusty, slightly wrinkled one. Irena’s grin grew even wider.

“Are you in the market for a dress, Mrs Thorne?” asked Irena.

“Yes,” replied Ada, feeling slightly confused. “Are you-” she swallowed. “Is this your shop?”

The strange Irena woman giggled at this. “Oh, no! I do want to work here though. I was thinking that if they can see me making a sale,” she pointed to a man and woman to their left fitting a sheer, glitzy gown over a mannikin, “then they’ll offer me a job.”

Ada was thoroughly bemused, but she decided that she liked this woman. She’d never met anyone so unapologetically ignorant of social rules (Ada could think of five problems with this situation at least), and yet so likable. Irena really was _very_ friendly.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m going to be spending big today,” Ada told her, grinning back. She repressed a cringe, Tommy’s words bouncing around in her skull: “ _Never let them know how much you’ve got, or they’ll bring the price up to match, Ada.”_ She didn’t think Irena was that sort of woman, plus she didn’t even work for the shop!

“What’s the occasion, then?” asked Irena, adopting a shrill, haughty shop assistant voice that had them both giggling.

“I’m going to the grand opening of a hotel up north and I need something glamourous but not too…”

“Ostentatious?” Irena asked, running her fingers over a peacock feathered pair of strappy heels. “Pretentious?” She made a face at a gold dress to their right that had multi-coloured jewels the size of chicken eggs lined up around the middle.

“Exactly,” Ada said with her eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Irena seemed to think, one hand rubbing a non-existent beard. “I’m not too sure what this store can do for you, Mrs Thorne.” She shook her head miserably. “Unfortunately, all we sell seems to have been rolled in the contents of grandmother’s jewellery box.”

Ada snorted and the owners turned to glare at the two of them, and then the husband promptly noticed Ada for who she was and hurried right over.

“Is there anything I can do for you, dear?” he asked, addressing only Ada, trying in vain to cut the other woman out of their exchange.

“Oh, don’t worry! Your assistant is taking care of me quite well. She welcomed me as soon as I entered the shop and is telling me all about your most expensive gowns!”

The man’s jaw dropped, but he recovered quickly, shooting Irena a disdainful once-over and reaching out a hand to guide Ada away from her. “Come with me my dear, we keep the best gowns out the back.” _Away from dirty urchins like that_ his expression seemed to add.

“I’m quite happy here, if you don’t mind, Mr…” Ada stepped out of the way of his outstretched hand.

“Mr Blake, madam,” he offered stiffly.

“Mr Blake,” Ada smiled at Irena. “I will call for you when I’m ready to make my purchase.”

~*~

Ada had spent more money than that man and his wife were likely to make in a whole week. She’d left her new friend Irena in there to speak to the owners about a job. She really would make a good saleswoman, Ada thought. Irena had found the one tasteful dress in the entire shop, packed in behind a violently yellow abomination that vaguely resembled an egg yolk. Glancing back at the window display, Ada noted that the dresses which beckoned her into the shop looked much sweeter behind glass, and tackier up close. Window shopping had its pitfalls after all.

After a moment or two Irena burst out of the shop, a hand clutching her stomach and her face red with laughter. Someone grabbed the handle from inside and slammed it shut behind her. She let out a shriek of mirth, wiping her forehead as if she’d just run a mile. “Quick, we have to leave!” She cried, still laughing. She grabbed Ada’s hand and pulled her along down the street, barely avoiding a cab and distressing an old lady and her dog. They ducked into a tight alleyway to catch their breaths, spluttering and, in Irena’s case, giggling.

“What happened?” Ada gasped, adjusting her dress around her waist.

“The man, he-” she took a breath and frowned comically. “Mr Blake,” she corrected in a gruff man’s voice, “asked me what I was doing in his lovely shop and I asked him to hire me, and then when he said no, I told him-” she started laughing again. “I told him ‘ _Well! You’re not getting the money I made you for that sale then, Sir!’_ and you should have seen his face, Ada! It was like I told him that his dog was dead!”

“But you gave him the money didn’t you, Irena?” demanded Ada, worry creeping up her spine. Of course, this is what happens when she finally makes a friend; she becomes an accessory for a shoplifting! Tommy was going to be furious, or maybe he’d just laugh at her. _Silly Ada. Haven’t got a lick of sense in that head of yours, do ya?”_

“Ada,” Irena was looking at her incredulously. “You do remember that _he_ was the one you paid the money to, don’t you?”

Ada let out a huff of relief and Irena snorted, followed by peals of laughter again.

“I got you both! Aren’t I good!” She grinned. “Don’t worry, I reminded him he had the money before I left, but I don’t think the insult left him any less angry.”

“You are something else, Irena,” Ada told her, shaking her head. “The dress is perfect though; I’m going to look fantastic.”

Irena smiled, and it seemed genuine this time, no tricks or playacting.

“I haven’t had this much fun in years,” Ada said, peeking out of the alleyway. “Do you think it’s safe for us to walk home yet?”

“It’s always been safe for _you_ to walk home, Mrs Thorne née Shelby.”

“I’m sick of people reminding me,” Ada muttered, crossing her arms and leaning against the brick building.

“Sorry,” said Irena. “It must be tough being a part of the most powerful family in Birmingham.” She put her arm through Ada’s and dragged them both back out onto the street.

“Stop mocking me. You’re lucky I like you, or I might’ve made use of that connection for once,” Ada quipped, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Is that a threat, Mrs Thorne?” Irena poked her in the side. “You really are a Shelby.”

Instead of being annoyed by Irena’s bantering, Ada laughed at her audacity. Finally, she was being teased by someone who wasn’t a brother or an aunt.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of that Shelby respect you get. You know how many times I’ve been followed home this week? Five times! And it’s not even Friday yet!” said Irena. “And I’ve altogether lost count of how many times I’ve been shooed out of shops this week. I’m only trying to spend my final pay cheque; they’d be getting good business out of me!”

“Final pay cheque?” repeated Ada. “Have you quit your job?”

“No, I was fired. For being smarter than my manager, believe it or not,” she grinned at Ada. “He couldn’t understand my mighty, moneymaking master plans, so he sacked me.”

“That sounds terrible, I’m so sorry,” said Ada. “What was it you worked as?”

This seemed to catch Irena off guard, and Ada detected it straight away. You don’t live in the Peaky Blinder’s headquarters for the majority of your life and not learn a few tricks. Ada was good at spotting when people were about to lie.

“I was a journalist,” Irena replied cagily.

“Oh, right. Perhaps I’ve read one of your articles before, what’s your last name?” Ada pressed. Why would she go for such an easily disproven lie?

“Katin, but you won’t find my name in the papers. I was more of a… detective, of sorts,” she said, a smile sneaking its way onto her face. A half-truth, maybe. Probably an inside joke, similar to her actual job. Ada really was good at this. “I uncover the information and my… _manager_ publishes it.”

“Your manager,” Ada echoed flatly, letting slip she didn’t quite believe Irena. To her credit, the woman didn’t get defensive. Her lie must be grounded in truth, then.

“My manager. Silly old sod, he only wanted the facts when they were suspended in formaldehyde and stripped of all their goodness. I was after the meat, the story, the mystery. Every rock I overturned pointed to a new one. It was just a bit much for him to handle, I guess, the scope of what I was discovering. He couldn’t see the bigger picture.”

“You sound like a right little snoop, poking around, overturning ‘rocks’,” jested Ada.

“I was, really,” mused Irena. “Probably still am. Habits like that are hard to get rid of.”

Ada glanced at her knowingly. She had never really lost her penchants for drama and scheming, even when she’d had her entire family cut off.

“It’s going to be hard for you to get another job then, isn’t it?” questioned Ada. Irena looked at her quizzically. “If you can’t use any of your references, I mean.” Irena’s face fell. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you? You obviously weren’t a journalist, Irena.”

Irena grumbled something under her breath, and Ada tugged her along. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me anything,” Ada reassured her. “You were probably working for some big bad man who will cut your neck in your sleep if he finds out you talked, right?”

Irena smiled again. “Not everyone is caught up in nasty business like your family is, Ada,” she teased. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, they’ve completely cut me off and any work I did for them will likely be burned,” she concluded miserably. “I’ve told you a lot today, Ada. Usually I’m a closed book,” Irena mused. “Shows how lonely I am, spilling my soul to a Shelby.”

“There, there,” said Ada, patting her hand as they walked. “At least I’m only half a Shelby. And a woman, at that.”

“True! Anything you say to a woman goes in one ear and out the other, according to our lovely male colleagues. Just as well for us then, hmm?” Irena winked.

“I bet that’s why you made such a good spy, no one suspects a women,” stated Ada, then she gasped and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Sorry, _detective,_ not spy. Definity not spy.”

They both giggled, and Ada turned down her street instinctively. “Oh no!” she cried.

“What?” asked Irena, looking about for any threats.

“I’ve walked us back to my street, I was so caught up in our conversation! You’re probably ages from here, aren’t you?” Ada asked, apologetic.

“It’s fine, it’s on the way for me. I’m about ten minutes that way,” Irena said, pointing north.

“We’re so close,” Ada said, putting her hands on her hips. “I have to see you again, Irena. I have had such a good chat, it’s no accident we were both in the shop today. Or…” Ada gasped, half joking, half serious. “You were sent to spy on me! That’s why you’re being so kind!”

Irena laughed. “If I were a spy, I wouldn’t have told you everything I just did,” said Irena, as if talking to a child. “If anything you told me today, or any other day, is published in a newspaper, then you’re free to ask your brothers to slit my throat in my sleep. Or while I’m awake, I don’t know how they do these things.”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” Ada smirked. “So, you did work for a newspaper then?”

“You know I didn’t Ada, stop poking me with a stick. I can’t tell you anything more.”

“Okay, I’ll stop,” said Ada. “Come meet me tomorrow morning, if you’re not busy. At ten maybe? We can have tea.”

“I’ll be here. I’ll bring some cake, shall I?” asked Irena, resuming her walk home.

“Perfect,” grinned Ada, and she too turned to walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy will come into it VERY soon, don't worry. Let me know what you think so far. I'm enjoying writing this, it's practically writing itself.


	2. Burning the Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe getting on Meyer's bad side wasn't a good idea after all.

Irena had been visiting Ada every couple of days for two weeks. Sometimes they’d go to the library and recommend books to each other, Ada liked poetry and collections of short fiction while Irena preferred spiralling stories that spanned over 200 pages of text at a time. Other times, they went for walks in places where the Peaky’s were less active because Ada couldn’t stand them “peering over my shoulder everywhere I go!”. Or they would just gossip and tell stories in Ada’s house. Irena loved it there. The house had floor to ceiling curtains in a soothing soft blue that was similar to the blues woven into the rugs and covering the lamps in the sitting room. Her son, Karl, was a shy but deceptively inquisitive little boy who ran about the place finding little oddments and knickknacks to show Irena, sometimes for no apparent reason other than to make her smile and ruffle his hair. He asked her questions about her shoes or her hair combs, nodding seriously as she explained which stores she’d bought them from or who had given them to her. Irena was so fond of Karl that she assured Ada that if she ever needed her to watch him while she went out, she would be more than happy to do so.

It was a Sunday morning and she was picking up some groceries for Ada and Karl. They had both been sick with sore throats for days and couldn’t risk going outside and getting a chill. She had bought all the staples; bread, milk, vegetables and a few other things, and she was just on her way to the apothecary for some cold medicine when she felt someone watching her. It was a sense that she’d picked up from her years of spying and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up uncomfortably. She knew she couldn’t turn around, the only way to avoid being followed was to slip away when they were distracted. She knew there would be no hope in distracting them if they knew she was on to them.

To confirm her suspicions, even though she had no doubt she was right, Irena walked around an entire block, looking in shop windows and occasionally crossing the street. Without so much as glancing into a window or talking to a single passer-by, the men followed her in a pointless loop. She _was_ right.

Now to do something about them; Irena had to find, or cause, a distraction. She scanned her surroundings for animals or children. They were easily the least suspicious traps she could set, one pinch there, a slipped coin here and she could duck in behind a carriage or some scrap and they’d go running down a dead end. Unfortunately, the street was practically empty. It was so empty, in fact, that Irena started to worry. Where the hell was everyone? Her pocket watch read a half hour past midday, peak shopping hours, and yet there was only a beggar and two shopkeepers. The men were starting to gain on her, and she knew she had to change tact. Fast.

“Hello,” Irena greeted the beggar man. He gazed up at her from under two big bushy eyebrows. His mouth was full of broken grey teeth that must not have helped the awful smell that surrounded his person in an invisible cloud of rot. Maybe that was a bit harsh, Irena thought as she examined him. Smell or not, she could use this man.

“’ello, Missy! Don’t mean to scare you or nuthin’ but there seems to be some men on your tail. Not sure they’re the good type, if you ask me. A bit too well dressed for these here parts. Not blendin’ in like you an’ me, hey?” He winked at her. She sighed, but of course the only thing worse than being identified with by a homeless man was being caught because a bit of wounded pride. She gritted her teeth and forced a grin.

“I’ll give you three pounds if you help me get rid of them,” she said in her best quavered damsel in distress voice. She learnt the hard way to set her price right from the beginning.

“Right you are then, Missy. Right you are… err…” He looked back at the men taking their time as they sauntered their way up the street. “m’not sure what your asking me to do though, Missy. Not sure they’re the charitable type.”

“Every man’s the charitable type, if you push the right buttons,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the men. “Quick, assault me,” she said, gesturing to herself.

“What?” the man replied, his gruesome mouth gaping open in shock.

“Assault me! Here,” she said, putting herself between the man and her pursuers, blocking him from sight. “Three pounds, remember? Grab this and pull,” she instructed, holing out a handful of her skirts. She ended up having to shove her shirts into his face before he snapped into action. As soon as he had her skirt in his grasp, Irena moved so the men could see them both and the beggar pulled. She shrieked, and he almost let go.

“Come on!” She whisper-shouted. “You can do better than that, or its only two pounds!”

This got the desired response. He started pulling her so roughly she fully expected her skirt be to ripped right off her hips. She wacked him in the head with her basket.

“Oi!” he yelled.

“Sorry, have to sell it,” she muttered, now pretending to kick at his shins with her pointed boots. She didn’t need to glance back to know that the men were running now, their heavy footfalls echoed up the smoky streets.

“Oh, bloody fucking hell,” the man uttered in terror, eyes wide and staring at the men. They were almost upon them. “They’re peaky fucking blinders, they are! Those boys got a pub blown up not two streets from ‘ere!”. That explained the lack of people, thought Irena. She could’ve kicked herself for being so unobservant.

“Six pounds, seven if I actually get away, alright?” Irena told him. She pulled his hand onto the waistband of her skirt and yanked. The top layer of her skirts fell to the ground and she yelled out again at the top of her lungs.

“Get him, boys!” announced one of the men. The poor beggar was lifted off the ground by two young men in long black coats and flat caps. She glared at him until he started to struggle and reach for Irena’s skirt again, rousing the men into even more action. She cringed when he copped a boot to the face, but hopefully that would be worst of it. One more scream, and the third man was in, the tussle turning into a full-blown fight.

Irena leapt up on top of a haphazard pile of crates and then dragged herself onto the roof of some poor unsuspecting family home, her skirt lying forgotten on the pavement below. Noticing an awning stick hooked onto the gutter at her feet, she grabbed it and rammed it into the crates. Jolted by the sound of them toppling over onto the street, the men stopped wailing on her beggarman and, upon realising their primary target was missing, began swearing and kicking things. _Toddlers_ , she thought as she watched them throw a tantrum in the street.

Irena waited until they were far out of sight, all searching for her in separate directions, before she made her way carefully over the rooftops. She balanced on rafters, finding them by the lines of bolts driven carelessly through the corrugated iron roofing. Once she’d traveled the length of the block, she slipped down the side of a house and ran and ran until her lungs were filled with acid and every breath burned.

Irena got into Ada’s through the back, hopping over the stone wall and entering through the maid’s quarters. She collapsed on a couch in Ada’s sitting room, sweat covering her face in beads.

“Irena?” She heard Ada call out from upstairs. “Rena, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me!” She yelled back, using up the last of her air. She let her head fall back into a cushion and closed her eyes, trying to even out her breathing.

“My god, Irena! Are you alright? Where’s your skirt?” Ada exclaimed, hurrying down the stairs.

“I lost it,” she replied, sitting up and fanning her face. “I’m alright, I just ran from the marketplace, I was…” she petered off, frowning.

“Don’t you lie to me, Irena Katin. You know I know when you’re lying,” Ada scolded her pre-emptively.

“Its… I’m in trouble and I can’t say why,” she said. “Or who with.”

~*~

Five minutes later, Irena was accepting a cup of tea from Ada, her cold feet warming up in front of the fire.

“You know what,” Irena mused with her head in one hand. “ _I_ don’t even know who was after me. Well, I know who my pursuers were, that much was obvious,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “But I have no idea who’s paying them. They have no reason to go after me by themselves.”

“Do you want me to ask my brothers to sort them out? It’d be a much better use of their time,” Ada sniffed. “All they do is sit around drinking whisky and plotting. It’d get them out of the office for a bit.”

Fuck.

“Oh, no! Don’t worry, I’m sure I can deal with this, no need to bring your brothers into it,” Irena reassured her.

“If that’s what you want,” smiled Ada, but her forehead was still creased in worry. “Would you like me to get you a wet cloth to help you cool down?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she replied, smiling gratefully.

Just as Ada disappeared into the kitchen, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh! That’ll be them! John told me he was bringing over Michael and Isaiah to have a bit to eat before they go back to Small Heath. You can join us if you’d like, finally see what madness I have to deal with on a weekly basis,” Ada yelled from the kitchen.

Barely a second passed by before Irena was scrambling out of the sitting room towards the back door again. “Sorry, Ada! I just remembered I left something on the stove!” She yelled back on her way past the kitchen, but of course those bloody brothers of Ada’s didn’t wait for doors to be opened. She heard the ruckus of them all tramping into the hallway and she ducked behind the nearest bookcase, wrapping her underskirt around her legs so it didn’t stick out.

“Ada!” a voice called out, almost defiantly the same one that she’d heard at the marketplace. John, Irena thought

“I’m in the kitchen!” Ada yelled back. Irena leant her head back against the wall, willing her breathing to settle.

“Bring us something’ strong, would you?”

“Come get it yourself, I’m not a bloody maid!”

“Fucking hell,” John muttered, and Irena heard the sound of footsteps fading into the kitchen.

“I just don’t understand how she got away,” muttered one of the other men. His voice sounded young, he was probably only twenty or so years old.

“I looked everywhere, Michael. Nothing,” said the third man, his voice sounding similar to his friends. “You should have grabbed her when you had the chance.”

“You could of too,” Michael responded accusingly.

 _Michael_ , Irena thought, racking her brains for why she knew that name. She recalled Ada mentioning him in reference to her Aunt, she didn’t know he was part of the rat pack too. _Of course he is, they all bloody are,_ she grumbled mentally.

~*~

“Here,” announced Ada. “Eat your sandwiches then be off with you all, I don’t have enough patience for you to stay the night. And don’t finish all my bloody rum or they’ll be nothing here for you next time!”

Irena waited until they were talking rowdily about their books and their races around mouthfuls of bread before she attempted to edge out of her hiding place towards the back door. It was all going well until she stepped on a squeaky floorboard.

“What was that?” asked Michael.

 _Fuuuck, fuck fuck fuck,_ thought Irena as she glanced around trying to find another place to hide.

Casual as can be, Ada replied, “Probably Karl, you boys have woken him up with all your bragging.”

Thinking quickly, Irena slowly made her way across the hall to Karl’s room, opening his door gently. He was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes with a big sleepy yawn. She walked over his rug and spoke to him softly, “Good sleep, lovey?”

He nodded. “Is John and Michael here?”

“Yes, love, want to go and say hello?” she whispered, helping him out of bed.

“Mmm,” he nodded again, brightening up.

“Okay, off you go then,” she instructed him, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “But don’t tell them that I’m in here, yes? We’re playing hide and seek.”

“Okay,” he grinned, then he trotted out of his room to see his uncle and cousin.

“There you are, Karl!” boomed a voice from the other side of the house, and Irena sighed in relief. She waited there for the rest of their visit; they wouldn’t be coming into Karl’s bedroom.

Eventually, she heard everyone getting up to leave. Just as she thought her troubles were over, however, she heard Karl ask, “Why is Rena’s skirt on the floor?”

Two voices spoke at once. “Who’s Rena?” and “The woman we were after dropped it.”

There was a pause before Ada said anything, and then, “She’s just a friend. They must’ve bought their skirts at the same store, Karl.”

“Which store, and where is it?” demanded John, all the cheer from lunch gone from his voice.

“Not one I shop at, I’ll ask Rena next time she’s here,” said Ada.

“Soon as you can, you hear?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll call Tommy. Off you go now, get out of my house before Karl learns any more swear words.”

The men left, but the damage was done. Karl asked why they hadn’t finished playing hide and seek and lead Ada to Irena’s hiding place. Ada stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring at her. “You’d better start talking.”

~*~

“I have to tell them you’re here, Irena! They’d be furious if they found out I’m hiding you,” Ada said frantically.

“They won’t, please don’t! Just pretend you have no idea who I really am, and that I’m just a friend. It’d be easy!” Irena pleaded. Karl was playing at Ada’s feet with a wooden train, smooshing it along the carpet.

“I can’t. If they don’t find you, it could mean some big knobhead comes knocking on all our doors and,” she broke off, glancing at Karl. “And puts a bullet through each of our skulls,” she finished at a whisper.

“Knobhead!” squealed Karl, and Ada dragged an exhausted hand down her face.

Irena shifted off her seat to sit with Karl on the rug, holding him tightly when he wiggled into her lap. She looked dejectedly into the fire while Karl ran his train up and down her arm. “Well,” she muttered. “You’re just going to have to hand me over then.”

“Do you really have no idea who’s got it out for you?” asked Ada quietly.

“No,” Irena replied. “No one knew anything about me, or even that I existed, except for my employers… Oh rats.”

“What?”

“It’s them, they’re burning the evidence. They want my bloody head,” she gasped, holding the little boy tighter.

“I thought that might’ve been it,” Ada said gently.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” demanded Irena.

“I didn’t want you to get upset! It doesn’t really make a difference anyway, one bad man or another. Not if they’re working through someone else,” said Ada.

“Ada, it makes all the difference! You don’t know how powerful they are, they could… they could do anything want and get away with it, and they do. You don’t know the things that I’ve seen,” said Irena, dropping her head onto Karl’s shoulder and rocking him gently. The boy’s eyes began to droop. His train slipped out of his little fist and bounced onto the rug.

The women said nothing for a few minutes, just sat and listened to the fire crackle. Karl snuggled down further into Irena’s lap.

“I’ll ask Tommy to help you,” said Ada suddenly.

“What? No! You can’t do that, he’s the one with the gun pointed at my head!” Exclaimed Irena. Karl grumbled, then went back to sleep.

“I don’t think you have another option, Rena, unless you want to start a new life in the colonies,” said Ada.

“They’ve got connections there too,” muttered Irena hopelessly.

“Look, Tommy’s smart, alright?” Insisted Ada. “He’s come up with loads of crazy plans and most of them have worked!”

“Most of them,” repeated Irena.

“They won’t hurt you. Not if I have anything to do with it,” promised Ada, and Irena felt herself being cornered.

She always suspected that her employers had a more literal way of terminating staff. The manager she’d had before Meyer had been there one Friday, taking her call as usual, and was ‘unavailable’ the next. Meyer had sniggered when he informed Irena that he had been ‘moved on from this life, off to start his next one’. She had tried for the longest time to believe that new life meant new job, but she’d always had her doubts. She should have known that simply firing someone was too easy for those people, and too… risky. Information was dangerous, after all.

“They’re going to kill me, Ada,” Irena whispered.

“They might, if we don’t do anything. We have to surprise them,” decided Ada. “We’ll do it tonight.”

“I decide the place,” Irena said firmly. She needed to know she could get away if it all went south.

“Where?” asked Ada, hoisting Karl off Irena’s lap and onto her hip. “Time for you to go to bed, my pigeon.”

“Behind the train station, where the kids play cops and robbers,” Irena replied, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from her underskirt. “And I’ll need to borrow some of your clothes.”

“You can grab anything from my wardrobe, I’ll call him,” said Ada. “Wait, actually, get the brown dress with the red leaves on it. Tommy gave it to me, he’ll remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was such a long time between updates, but I've got a plan now yay. This fandom is a lot quieter than others I've written in, but I'm enjoying this story all the same. Thanks for commenting and leaving kudos, really gets me motivated <3


	3. The Long Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena makes a deal. Or, rather, she's offered a deal she'd be stupid to refuse.

Thick cloud covered Small Heath, wrapping all the shit and smoke into one tight little bubble. Irena wished she were taller, tall enough to see out over the cloud and the smog, to see something other than poverty. Machines. Mud. And the Peaky fucking Blinders.

Ada had wanted to find a room, somewhere they could all “sit down and have a proper meeting.” The idea made Irena feel like a mouse trapped in box. “No,” she had said. “Outside, next to the tracks. Where I can breathe.”

There were three ways of getting away from them there, which was better than none.

The Peaky’s walked up to Irena and Ada in some kind of formation, similar to a flock of birds flying south. Tommy at the head, Irena guessed, his family in a V shape behind him. She counted seven of them. All men.

They stopped about four feet from where the women stood. Irena was wearing the dress Ada told her too, but she’d thrown a black coat over it. There were few opportunities to take men off guard in situations like this; Irena had to use them wisely.

“So,” said Tommy, breaking the silence, “Irena Katin.” He pulled his gloves from his hands, loosening each finger first, and stowed them in a pocket.

“Thomas Shelby,” she replied, before glancing around, adding “and company.”

There were too many of them for her first escape plan, which was to simply turn and run. Some of them would give a chase, but some would remain where they were and just shoot. There were too many of them for her to take her chances that way.

“Ada tells me you want to make an arrangement,” said Tommy languidly. It was difficult to make out his features; the sun, or what Small Heath saw of it, was setting behind him and he was cast in his own shadow.

Irena met his eye. “This morning I was walking through the marketplace minding my own business, buying food and medicine for your sick sister, actually, and I found myself being followed at no great distance by three of your men.” She pointed to the ones she recognised. “I’m just here to request that that doesn’t happen again.”

Tommy nodded contemplatively. “You know,” he began, “I always imagined that spies of your calibre, that can hide from my men as well as you can, would prefer the sit and wait method, rather than whatever this is.” He gestured between them.

“I’ve found that sitting and waiting is only useful for those who want to find themselves in the middle of a stampede, Mister Shelby,” she responded.

“Like that poor old sod you made John here kick in the teeth,” he said, eyebrow raised. “Of whom you owe… seven pounds, was it?”

“Six, if things don’t go to plan,” Irena replied with a grim smile. “Let’s hope they do, yes? For our friend’s sake.”

Tommy said nothing.

“Are you armed?” Irena asked the group. A few of them sniggered, shifting their weight around, hands dropping subconsciously to concealed weapons. At least four of them were, she deduced. Probably more. She expected it, however, and escape options two and three were still on the table.

Tommy stood still, exhibiting why he, and not any of the men who followed him, was the man who called the shots.

“Yes, we’re armed,” Tommy answered, humouring her. “Are you?”

The men who’d sniggered before now laughed rowdily, nudging each other and grinning. Even Tommy had a slight lift to his lip.

“No,” Irena smiled back at them. “My line of work doesn’t require that sort of brutality.”

One of the men directly beside Tommy stiffened.

“I do want to come to an agreement,” Irena confessed before any of the men could retort, sick of all the back and forth. “I want you, and your men, to leave me alone. I’m not harming anyone. In fact, I’ll soon be giving back to the community, Ada’s helping me find new employment. She says I’d make a good shop assistant.” Ada straightened beside her.

“I’m sure you would, Miss Katin,” agreed Tommy, “but unfortunately, we can’t leave you alone until we’re sure you’ve stopped breathing-”

“Tommy!” Ada interjected

“-we’ve been instructed to put a bullet between your eyes and, if not for Ada’s generous reference of your character, we would have done that several minutes ago.”

Irena quickly slipped her pocket watch out of the dress Ada lent her, and the reaction was instant; she had five guns pointed at her quicker than she could blink. Ada pushed Irena behind her back. “Stop it! All of you! She was just checking the bloody time!” she yelled. Irena checked the time. 7:16 pm.

“Come on, men. The lady was only checking the time,” Irena heard Tommy say.

“Ada,” she whispered, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder, “help me out of this.”

They got Irena’s coat off and it landed in the mud at her feet.

“This is a trick, Tom! She’s planned something, I know it!” Yelled Arthur, walking towards Irena furiously.

“Arthur-” Tommy warned.

“She’s a fucking spy, she is. We can’t trust her.” Arthur was almost upon her, and Irena only had one option in such close quarters. She was still standing close enough to Ada, and her knife was tucked snugly up her right dress sleeve. She began to move, reaching behind Ada as she wiggled the knife from its hiding place.

“Enough, Arthur! I say we can trust her!” Yelled Ada, again putting herself between the men and Irena.

Irena tucked her knife back up her dress.

There was a stalemate, silence. The wind blew in Irena’s hair, teasing out black curls and carrying them into her face and around her neck.

“Even if we could trust her, which we can’t,” said Tommy, “we still have a job to do.”

“Fuck the job! How is this more important than my friend’s life!” Demanded Ada, still glaring at Arthur.

“If we don’t do the job, Isaiah here goes to the gallows,” Tommy said, raising a hand towards one of the men Irena had seen on the street that day. “He was seen trespassing on the Kings property which, for some people, results in a death sentence. You,” she continued, pointing at Irena, “are his only way out of that.”

“Here’s my arrangement, then. I’ll spy for you,” said Irena, breaking her silence. She hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but it seemed to be her only option. She needed to turn herself into an asset, someone worth crossing the King for.

“You’ll spy for us,” Tommy repeated.

“I’ll work for you, find out anything you need to know,” she promised. “I’ll work for other people, give you the money. Anything. And, I’m the best in England.”

“Right. And if you’re so bloody good, why are you in Small Heath?” Arthur began again.

“I’m semi-retired,” she said. Tommy’s expression was impassive. “I’ve lived in Birmingham all my life, not quite here but close. This is my home, Mister Shelby.”

“Fucking lies,” Arthur growled at her, fists screwed menacingly at his sides. “She’s here to bloody spy on us.” He turned to Ada, “On our family.”

“And your willing to leave your retirement to work for us?” Tommy continued.

“Yeah, after you’ve killed me.” Irena stepped out in front of Ada again, despite her hissing to “get behind before they shoot you!”

She saw Tommy’s eyes glance down at her dress. She estimated the time was 7:18 pm.

“You want to fake your death,” Tommy said, eyebrows raised.

“Then your man walks free and I get to keep breathing. We both get what we want,” Irena told him, “and my talents will be at your disposal.”

Tommy lit a cigarette. “We’ve already got informers, Miss Katin. Why should we need you?”

“Your informers sit, they watch, we’ve been over this. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, Mr Shelby. I get into people’s workplaces, their houses, their bedrooms. I’ve never been caught.”

“Right.” He nodded. “We’ll give you a shot then.”

Arthur spun around to face him. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Tom? She’ll sell our private business to the highest bidder!”

“And then it’ll be her head on the chopping block, won’t it, Arthur?” He replied calmly.

Irena smiled. “Great, good. Well, I’ll get Ada to bring me over to… wherever, tomorrow and we can start business. Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind hanging around for another-” Irena checked her pocket watch again. 7:19:32. “twenty-eight seconds, it will make my cause of death seem a lot more convincing.”

“Rena, what do you mean?” asked Ada anxiously.

“May I borrow your brother?” Irena asked Tommy. He gestured for his brother to go to her.

She began ripping a strip from her under skirt. “The man driving the next train has a secretary wife in the copper’s office. She reports directly to Churchill,” she said, glancing pointedly at Tommy for a moment, before turning to face the tracks. She held the strip of cotton behind her back. “Tie my hands together,” she instructed Arthur, who hesitated for a second, but then complied a little too enthusiastically. “Okay,” she squared her shoulders, “what you need to do is push me in front of that train and then shoot one bullet into the tracks. The iron rails, not the wood.”

“I’m sure we can find a safer way to do this, Miss Katin, we’ve done it before,” she heard Tommy say from behind her in a tone that suggested, despite his words, that he wasn’t particularly worried about how things may out.

“Make sure it doesn’t ricochet off into me, yes?” she continued. The train was rounding a bend 200 meters from where they stood. “Do it now.”

“Arthur, no!” Ada screamed from behind them

“Grab Ada, John,” said Tommy.

“Get off me! Stop it, Rena!”

“You ready?” Arthur murmured in Irena’s ear. She nodded.

“Get everybody to clear off, in case someone’s watching,” she told him.

Irena was shoved onto the tracks, still standing, and she barely had a moment to look at the scene around her before Arthur fired his gun and Irena crumpled onto her side, immediately pulling herself firmly back against a wooden slat. The image of Tommy’s empty eyes was imprinted into the backs of her eyelids, inescapable as the train rushed deafeningly over her body, her eyes screwed shut centimeters away from the belly of an iron horse. She lay there for almost half an agonising minute, praying that none of her clothing would fly up into the machinery above her and drag her under a wheel. Irena hated dresses for a reason.

~*~

The train passed, and Irena was left feeling like she’d lost a few years of her life. Her entire body was spotted with mud and gravel, her back soaked in sludge. Ada’s dress would be ruined. She lay there, eyes closed and facing the sky. She knew she had to move, someone would notice her at any moment now, but she could barely bring herself to lift her head up off the ground. She heard footsteps crunching over gravel, closing in on her, coming to a stop right beside her. She breathed slowly in through her nose. Out through her mouth. She opened her eyes.

Tommy stood above her, cigarette in hand, the other reaching down to help her up. She closed her eyes again.

“Come on, Miss Katin, we don’t have all night. The light’s fading, perfect time to move off.”

She heaved her elbows up so she could get some leverage; her hands were still bound at the wrist. Tommy grabbed below her shoulder and pulled her up. He was stronger than he looked, and his grip left an ache in her arm.

“Risky move there, getting Arthur to take the shot,” he commented.

Irena turned so he could untie her wrists. “Well now he’s killed me once, maybe he won’t try to again,” she reasoned.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” he told her, passing his cigarette from behind. She took it, and he started pulling deftly at Arthur’s knot. “Once he’s got an idea in his head, he’s not one to give it up.” Irena remembered the knife tucked into her sleeve and froze, but Tommy didn’t seem to notice it.

He put a hand on her shoulder to turn her around, but she shook him off, walking away in the other direction with Tommy’s cigarette in her mouth. He caught up to her, matching her pace with ease.

“Where are we off to?” he asked, lighting another cigarette.

“ _You_ are off to speak to the mortuary about a dead girl you found on the tracks, whereas _I’m_ off to my mother’s house,” she told him, staring straight ahead.

“No, you’re not. No lady goes to see her mother when she looks like she’s had a tumble in a pig sty.”

“Fine, I’m off to see a friend,” she tried, crossing her arms with the cigarette in her mouth.

“Ada tells me you haven’t got any.”

Irena turned to face Tommy irritably. “Why do you care where I go? I told you I’d meet with you tomorrow morning.”

“I say tonight,” he said, staring down at her with little expression.

“I’m busy tonight, Mister Shelby.” Irena started walking again, her hands reaching into her hair to pull her comb out.

“Busy with what?” He pressed, walking alongside her. She noted somewhat gratefully that he didn’t try to grab her again.

“With business.”

“I thought you were out of a job, Miss Katin? Or was that a lie too?”

She stopped once again, dropping her cigarette butt into the mud and squashing it with the toe of her boot. “What’s so important that it can’t wait till morning?”

“Come on, come with me,” Tommy said, beckoning her to turn around. He acted as if he were convincing a rather stubborn mare into a trailer. Irena hoped the trailer didn’t lead to the slaughterhouse. “We’ll have a drink, discuss our terms, and we can both sleep rest assured that neither of us is going to blind the other in their sleep.”

Irena stopped. “You’re the only one in this situation with a reputation for blinding, Mr Shelby.”

Tommy just puffed on his cigarette.

Irena wasn’t one for late night deals over drinks in dark rooms, but she didn’t want to put the man out so early into their arrangement. Not when he’d been so accepting. She put her hands up into her hair again, tying her curls behind her with her scrap of skirt. “Fine, but you’d better make it a quick drink. I’ve had an awful fucking day and if I don’t get to sleep soon, I might start blinding people too. Regardless of what terms they discuss.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be home before ten,” said Tommy, passing her another cigarette. She held it between her lips as he lit it for her, and Irena felt herself lean into the heat slightly; she was freezing. But the night was far from over.

~*~

“How did I not know about you, ey?” asked Tommy, closing the door behind them. They were in a private room in a Shelby pub, one which stank of smoke and sweaty men. “I know everything that happens in Birmingham; all the family names, which people are immigrants, who works for government agencies. Why don’t I know who you are, Miss Katin?”

Grateful she’d had the sense to go find her discarded coat, Irena pulled it minutely closer around her body. She wasn’t used to being questioned face to face. Telephones where a lot more removed, less intimidating.

“While you’re thinking up your next lie, I’ll be taking this, alright?” Tommy said, grabbing onto her wrist firmly. She was seated already with her legs trapped under the table, so all she could do was lean off to one side. She tried to crush his arm into the edge of the table, but he forced his elbow into her throat, pinning her to the wall behind her. “Fuck off,” she tried to gasp out, unable to move. He twisted her arm onto the table, sliding the knife from her sleeve, then let her go. She slumped forward gasping for air, knocking over her glass of whisky which flowed down the table in a stream, dripping off the table onto Irena’s boot. “Fuck,” she said, voice still ragged. Tommy asked the barman for a rag through the shuttered window.

Irena looked up at Tommy, finally. He held her knife between his fingers, balancing it gently. It had blood on it, but Irena hadn’t used it. She glanced down at her newly stinging arm. Her brown sleeve was now black with her own blood, seeping its way out from a long gash down the middle. “Fuck!” she whined, tipping her head back in frustration. She wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of Tommy.

“It’s alright,” said Tommy, grabbing her hand to pull her arm across the table toward him. She panicked again, wrenching her hand out of his. “I’m just going to wrap it up, Irena. If you keep moving your arm it’s going to bleed even more.”

“I’ll do it,” she muttered out of gritted teeth. Tommy tossed her the rag with a shrug.

He watched her struggle with it for too long, trying to use the weight of her arm to tuck the end under so it wouldn’t slip away. She finally got it, ripping one end with her teeth to knot it to itself. Bracing herself for the pain, she lowered her cut into the spilt whisky. She didn’t let herself make another sound.

Tommy seemed relaxed, watching her as if she were conducting a performance on a stage built just for him. Irena hated it.

“You not knowing I existed is a testament to my abilities, yes?” She said, steering the conversation back to business. Her arm throbbed painfully but she tried to ignore it.

“Could be,” Tommy nodded. “Or it might just mean that my brother is right about you. What reason would you have, otherwise, to hide from us?”

“I wasn’t hiding, Mister Shelby,” Irena said, shifting herself up in her seat trying to regain a semblance of dignity. “Look at me.”

Irena realised the redundancy of her comment almost immediately; Tommy hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they’d met by the tracks.

“Nothing about me is worth remembering, is it? I smell like mud and piss, my face and hair are caked in dust. This dress is the most colourful thing I’ve worn for at least three years,” Irena said, looking down at Ada’s poor clothes. “You’ve probably seen me a thousand times and never batted an eye. I’m just another piece of Birmingham. I blend in.”

Tommy looked thoughtful as he took a mouthful of drink. He cleared his throat. “Why did you get so close to Ada?”

“We met in a dress shop,” Irena said with a grin, “had some fun at the expense of a snotnosed shop keep. We make quite a team, me and your sister. After that, she was the one who kept inviting me over.”

“And you knew who she was?”

“Yes. I knew who she was.”

Tommy took another drink. “So, you thought you’d borrow a bit of that Shelby reverence to keep you safe from your enemies, right?”

“Reverence,” Irena repeated with a laugh. “That’s a funny word for fear, Mister Shelby.” She pushed her glass forward for a refill. “Nothing I say is going to make you trust me, I know that, you know that. Stop this bloody interrogation, let my actions speak for themselves.”

“I have,” he said, holding up the knife again. “Fine little blade, this. Italian stiletto.”

“Yes, it is,” Irena agreed, reaching out for the knife

Tommy put the blade into his coat pocket. “You working for Sabini?”

“What part of me being out of a job do you not understand, Mister Shelby?” Irena asked tiredly.

“The only thing I understand is that, as of tonight, you are under the command of the Peaky Blinders. Any other jobs you take, or are currently working, will be discussed with me prior to any further action on your part. Any and all information you are currently privy to concerning Birmingham, London, the entirety of Great Britain, will be reported directly to me-”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” muttered Irena.

“-along with any other information you come across in the future.”

“Mister Shelby, you have no fucking clue how much information I know,” she scoffed. “I don’t just know who’s doing what with who and when, which would be enough to fill a more than a few bloody books with by the way. I know why they’re doing it, how they’re going to do it and why they’re going to succeed or fail at it.”

Irena took a sip of rum. The warmth of it travelled through her body, heating her face and hands. “You’re a betting man, are you not?” Irena asked him. Tommy stared back at her. “Then you know how many components there are to a proper wager, things that can’t be over looked. Take a racing bet for example: you’ve gotta know about the sire, the dam, what season it was born in, the stables that raised it, the stables that raced it. Then you have to know its conformation, how it looks, how it looked two years ago, if it’s had an injury. Then you’ve gotta know about its brothers and sister, how’ve they been travelling? Then, which weather does it perform best in? What type of ground does it ride well on? You know all about this.”

Getting no response, she continued, “Well, like a betting man, I don’t just think about the races my horse has won, yes? I collect every bit of information I can, and I make predictions, I think about its next movements. That’s why I’m so bloody good.”

Tommy was silent for moment, watching her, then he checked his pocket watch. “Well, Miss Katin, it’s nine thirty and I said you’d be home by ten.” He stood from the table, draining his whisky in one gulp. “I’ll walk you home, and you can start telling me about Birmingham’s Italian population.”

Irena drained hers in a similar manner before she stood. “Perhaps, in light of what I’ve just told you, you could be a bit more specific. Help me stick to the relevant information, yes?”

“I’ll decide what’s relevant,” said Tommy, holding the door open for her.

She rolled her eyes, _of course_. This meeting had told her all she needed to know. Tommy would be holding all his cards to his chest, demanding that Irena show him hers, and that they’d be playing a game of which the rules would be known only to Tommy. What he didn’t realise, however, was that Irena knew which game they were playing. _The long game,_ she thought to herself, smiling. _Fucking finally.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for spelling/grammer mistakes, I haven't proofread this one. Hope you enjoyed!


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